


TOY.

by tribunal



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied Sexual Content, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 11:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tribunal/pseuds/tribunal
Summary: He’s kinda cute.You wanna bully him.





	TOY.

**Author's Note:**

> this work's meant for kinktober!  
not entirely sure how far I'll get, but I need practice writing both smaller things and more explicit things, so we'll see how this goes.  
<s>it's funny that my first official fic postings for xiv are exarch/wol considering I'm currently grinding my beans into a fine paste over my larger hades fics</s>

God, he’s so damn cute. Pressed up against a wall, face painted with a gentle sheen of nervous sweat, lips opening in closing in unheard supplications. One of your hands fists his hair, crimson strands tickling your knuckles. Ignored in favor of the inward canting of his brows, the wide open gasping of his mouth.

He’s disheveled, ruined, all red-tinged with desperation and t-shirt all hiked up to expose the stark dichotomy of crystal playing alongside sleek musculature. Jeans slung low on his hips, hinting at the revelation of jutting hip bone.

He’s cute.

You wanna wreck him.

Your free hand trails along his cheekbone, fingers tracing plush lower lip, eyes captivated by the wet flickering of needy tongue in the depths of his mouth. Only watching him and he’s already shivering, shaking, hungry. And yeah, you could have pity on him, but, god, it’s so much more fun to watch him completely lose his sense. So close to what he wants, hands opening and closing into useless fists. But he’s not allowed to touch, not allowed to take more than what you’re giving. 

Admittedly, you hadn’t expected G’raha to go along with this so quickly, but you suppose you’ve got a sixth sense for people like him, for their greed, their need. His hips buck upwards, the harsh grind of his arousal knocking against your own, sharp whine emitting from those parted lips before you jam your fingers in his mouth. They knock harmlessly against his teeth, stalling the sound. Your other hand jerks in his hair, tightening its hold, his face falling blissfully towards yours.

“Bad.” His heterochromatic gaze sharpens, mouth trying to form words over the intruding digits, but, ah, you can’t be reasoned with. You’re disentangling from him, fingers uncurling from his hair, pulling wetly from his mouth, though his tongue tempts--for just a moment.

Wiped your hand on your pants just fast enough to see that calculating look flit away from his eyes, replaced with that same blank hunger, need to please. That’s the cutest part of him, you think, that his mind is always a whirl, always moving, even when he’s splayed out for you (only you). Your answering smile is hidden, not yet to acquiesce, not even when he opens that pouty mouth and asks, as polite as you’d like:

“Please?”

What goes unsaid is the underlying _let me try again, I promise I’ll be good_, which you already know you’ll hear. 

Later. Much later. He can read it in the crook of your brow, in the slow curve of your lips. 

God, you’re cute.


End file.
